Thinking Too Hard
by The Deadly Hook
Summary: Post S6, Buffy has nightmares....


Title: Thinking Too Hard

Author: The Deadly Hook

E-mail: deadlyhook@stakeme.com

Disclaimer: Ownership of the BtVS characters etc. is all Joss Whedon and ME. Not mine at all.

Rating: PG, some strong dream imagery. 

Genre: Angst. 

Spoilers: S6. 

Feedback: It's early days. I have no defenses against harsh criticism. Please don't make me cry.

Site: www.stakeme.com. Deep thinky thoughts in the form of episode reviews.

Summary: Post S6, Buffy has nightmares... Deals a bit with rape trauma. Second of three fics written in August 2002, before the S7 premiere.

......... 

The nightmares were back. That was the worst of it, really. 

I mean, Willow, that had been bad. Getting back to the house, after everything... that had been awful, so awkward and miserable that eventually Xander had taken her back to his place instead of leaving her there with them, shaking and crying, everyone too freaked out to deal with her or comfort her, no matter how much they wanted to try. Now it was just her and Dawn in the house now, and it was way too quiet. 

Maybe that's why the nightmares came back. 

They'd been gone for a long time now. She hadn't dreamt of being in her coffin, that crawl out of her grave, for months. Too much else on her mind. But they were back now, oh yes, back with a vengeance. She supposed it had something to do with that hole she and Dawn had been trapped in, the smell of dirt, the feel of rotted wood under her hands as she tried to shift the coffins to get them out... maybe that's what had brought it all back. Or maybe it was Willow's spooky voice-in-her-head reminding her, that voice telling her the earth wanted her again. In her dreams it certainly felt like it.

And then there were the new dreams. The new ones about Spike. 

Those were even worse. There was no sound. Sometimes he didn't even touch her, but just stood there looking at her, face blank and lifeless, eyes fever-bright. Or she'd be fighting him, in horrible slow motion, some nameless fear freezing her, making her limbs feel like lead, his body pressed up against hers, trapping her like an animal. She'd wake up cold, shivering after one of those, usually needing to use the bathroom bad, but she'd hold on until morning anyway, just because she couldn't face going back into that room, not at night with the sound of tree branches knocking against the side of the house to scare the hell out of her. No, it was hard enough to go in there in the daytime and brush her teeth. Or take her shower and stand there shivering, trying not to look at the spot on the floor where he'd pushed her down, trying not to think about that look in his eyes. Trying not to ask herself how things had ever gotten to this point, gotten so bad. 

She hadn't let herself really think about it, what had happened. Too much else to deal with; her friends, Willow, Xander, Giles, Dawn. No one had asked her for details and she hadn't really offered any. So okay, maybe keeping her feelings locked up inside wasn't so good...not like she needed a shrink to tell her that. And yeah, she could guess that was probably why she was having all these nightmares... but that was still better than burdening her friends with the whole sordid tale, wasn't it?

He was gone now anyway. 

He'd picked up and left, probably that same night. Good thing he had, too. She would have killed him by now if he hadn't, she was sure of it; worked up the necessary outrage to walk into his crypt, shove a stake into his chest and watch him crumble away. It was what he deserved, after what he'd done. She should have done it ages ago. There was no way she could tell herself any different now.

But at least she wouldn't have to now. Yet.

Just thinking about it, staking him... that was a whole other topic she'd rather not consider. Resolutions were all well and good, but whenever she tried to picture it, tried to play out the scene in her mind, it made her legs feel like water, her stomach fill with knots. She could imagine all too easily the look on his face. She knew it wouldn't be the one that haunted her dreams.

It would be the one she'd seen last, staring across the bathroom at him with her hands knotted in her torn robe. Misery and regret. Or worse, despair. The kind she'd heard in his voice, just before he'd attacked her, desperate, pleading. _"You should have let him kill me."_ Grabbing at her as if she were the only lifeline that could possibly keep him afloat, keep him from drowning. His eyes. 

_"Why do you keep lying to yourself?"_

He'd been... afraid.

_"You afraid I'm gonna..."_

She wondered, not for the first time, what he'd meant to say then. That first time. What he'd thought she'd been afraid of.

Not that it mattered now.

The days had gotten better, since, just like she'd promised they would. She felt happier. Bit by bit, she was rebuilding her life. No more lies to her friends, no more evasion and secrecy. Dawn came with her on patrols now, real sister-bonding stuff. They'd set up an impromtu training room in the basement with the mats and punching bag salvaged from the Magic Shop. She spent her nights teaching Dawn self-defense moves, tricks with weapons, then watched her try out those moves in the cemetery. And she was good with it, her sister the Key. She had style and flair. She lit up when she got in a good hit, when the fight was intense. She was graceful with it, like a dancer.

_"You think we're dancing?"_

It _was_ good. All of it. Willow in England, making with the recovery, that was good. Xander, getting in a little world travel for the first time with her. Anya trying to rebuild the store. Dawn in training, learning to stand on her own. Giles, traveling back and forth, every couple of weeks, it seemed. He'd been by tonight to see her, to ask how she was doing. They'd had a nice dinner at a restaurant, with fabric napkins instead of paper. Not a hamburger in sight. It'd been fun. Dawn had told stories about her success at staking vamps and had knocked over a water glass showing off her technique. Giles had laughed. They all had. All good. 

Tonight's dream had been the worst one yet.

She was fighting to get out of her grave, and it was just like it had been. The dry rasp for air. The soil in her face. Her hands, burning with pain, bleeding and raw. And _he_ was standing right there when she broke through the earth, hands outstretched to help pull her from the gravesoil... and his face had that same look, that horrible, empty stare. And oh god, that was too much, way too much. She had crawled right back into her grave to get away from it, anything to get away from it, but he was right behind her, following her, didn't need to breathe, burrowing in behind her, right into the dirt, and she was trapped there in the dark, in her box, pushing desperately against the coffin lid to keep it between them, her lungs burning and the thick smell of soil and rot all around her, and the scrabbling sounds of his fingers on her coffin, trying to get in. 

She'd woken sweating and shaky, sheets knotted around her legs, a scream choking in her throat, and oh god that had been bad, but the worst part, the _very_ worst part was that she had to run into that same _damned_ bathroom to be sick, fingers clutching the cold porcelain while she heaved her guts out, sparks dancing in front of her eyes, cold tile under her knees... and that spot on the floor just a few feet away.

God, how much worse could it get?

She sat on the bathroom floor in her pjs, cheek resting against the toilet seat, still dizzy from vomiting, and for some reason, the picture she couldn't get out of her mind was the way his eyes had _really_ looked, when he'd first seen her... that night she'd crawled out of her grave. The way he'd taken hold of her hands.

Her body reacted with another dry heave. 

It was some minutes before she pulled herself up, gripping the rim of the toilet bowl and gasping for air, shakily waiting to see if her body was done doing its thing. It seemed to be. She eased herself back against the wall, and sat there, just breathing. Watched the hot sparks dancing in front of her eyes. The door, there, with her bathrobe hanging on its hook.

The room was empty.

He wasn't there.

...except he was. There was no place left in her house that she could look at without some bad memory crowding in. None.

Her mother's body in the living room. Tara's body in her mother's bedroom. Faith at the dinner table. Angelus at the front door. Her friends bound and gagged in the basement. 

Spike. Everywhere. 

In her bedroom, hovering like a shadow. In the sunny kitchen, smiling and seductive. Outside on the back porch. In the front yard. In the hallway. Sitting on the floor playing cards. At the front door with his hand slipping into the pocket of her jeans. Staring up at her from the bottom of the stairs, fingering an axe thoughtfully and telling her he knew she'd never love him. Promising.

Holding her hands.

_"How long was it for you... where you were?"_

Too much to think about. 

A tree branch slapped the window outside and she jumped, her heart instantly racing. It was a moment before she realized the knocking sound wasn't coming from outside.

"Hello? Buffy? You in there?"

Dawn.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure." Her voice sounded weak to her own ears. And there wasn't much of a way to look casual, sitting on the floor next to the toilet in the middle of the night. All she could do was rub her face with her sleeve and hope her eyes weren't too red, that it didn't show too much, what she'd been thinking about, dreaming about.

Dawn opened the door gingerly and eased inside. "Hey," she said. And sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Her slippered feet brushed the floor, right over that spot. 

The one she couldn't look at.

"You okay? I thought I heard... well, it sounded like you were sick," Dawn said hesitantly.

"I was." 

"It's weird, how quiet the house is now. You know. Now that it's just... us here," her sister chattered, false perky. Her hair was sticking up, her pjs rumpled. She'd been woken from a sound sleep. _Here be monsters,_ she thought dimly to herself.

"I can hear you sometimes. At night," Dawn told her, and she felt her stomach twist. "Sounds like crying."

"Nightmares." It was the only answer she could give. No more, please. Don't ask me to explain, Dawn, please.

Thankfully, Dawn was quiet. She just sat there, feet swinging, until Buffy felt well enough to get up. Gave her sister a wan smile and shooed her back to bed. Went back to her own bedroom and stood there in the doorway, unsteady on her feet. Looking at the rumpled bed she'd just climbed out of. Dreaded getting back in. 

Her gaze drifted to the window.

_Daylight soon,_ she thought.

And she let herself wonder where he was.

- end - 


End file.
